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(I have severe PTSD and the hectic, noisy atmosphere of my restaurant job can be rough. My boss is a veteran, so he understands and lets me have several breaks to make sure I don’t get too overwhelmed, and the rest of the staff is very understanding about it. I’ve been getting treatment and doing very well. My boss is on vacation this particular week, and has the assistant manager from the morning shifts running the restaurant.)

Assistant Manager: “Hey! Where are you going?”

Me: “I’m taking a break. I’m feeling a bit foggy and need to sit outside for a bit. I won’t be out there for longer than ten minutes.”

Assistant Manager: “You can’t just wander off whenever you feel like it! You have s*** to do!”

Me: “I finished all of the major tasks, and the dinner rush is done. It’s pretty slow right now, so I figured I wouldn’t be missed.”

Assistant Manager: “You’re the one with PDST or whatever, aren’t you? That’s a just a stupid excuse you crazies use to get out of work. I’m not letting you take advantage of me!”

(He storms over to the back door and starts moving heavy boxes of meat and produce in front of it. I realize what he’s doing and I start to panic.)

Me: “Wait, please. No, please, don’t block the door—”

Assistant Manager: “You are never getting out of here on my watch. You aren’t going home until I say you can!”

Me:*tearing up* “Please don’t. I’m already embarrassed by this as it is, and I can’t move those boxes. I just need to clear my head.”

(The assistant manager then goes to one of the entrances of the restaurant and blocks it with a table and points to me.)

Assistant Manager: “You. Aren’t. Going. Anywhere!”

(I start to have a flashback and curl up on the ground. It’s been a year since I had an episode like this. I hear one of the waitresses run in.)

Waitress: “What’s happening?! [My Name], are you okay?!”

Assistant Manager: “He’s just trying to get attention!”

Waitress: “DID YOU BLOCK THE DOOR?! HE WAS A HOSTAGE IN A ROBBERY, YOU IDIOT! WHY WOULD YOU BLOCK OFF THE DOORS?!”

(The assistant manager went pale and watched while the kitchen staff rushed to my aid. They moved boxes aside, walked me outside, and one of the waitresses even brought me my panic attack medication from my bag. My boss was called. Not only did he scream at the AM for not taking my mental illness seriously, he was also fired because blocking one of the customer exits was a safety hazard in the event of a fire.)

(I am attending a home and garden show at the state fairgrounds. The complex is huge and has multiple buildings with multiple events going on, all with different admission fees. I am on my way back to my car when my young daughter informs me she is about to have a bathroom emergency. I take her to the nearest building.)

Security Guard: “Hello! You guys got your tickets?”

Me: “Actually, I don’t. We were just hoping to pop in and use the restroom.”

Guard: “I’m sorry, I’ve been specifically told not to allow that because people sneak in.”

(He then looks down and sees my daughter in visible discomfort.)

Guard: “Um, I just got a call on the radio that there might be a dragon in the building, so I am going to have to look over in this direction for a while. When I turn my back, whatever you do, DON’T open these doors. DO NOT go down this hallway approximately 20 yards, and under no circumstances use the employee restroom because it’s cleaner, and there is no line.”

(He then winks, opens the door, and turns his back. We hurry in and use the potty. On the way out, I see the guard.)

Me: “Thanks so much! Have you tracked down the ‘dragon’?”

Guard: “Funniest thing, turned out to be a light fixture, not a dragon at all, so there’s no danger. Have a great evening, ladies.”

(Mr. Security Guard, if you are reading this, thank you! You are a lifesaver!)

(I work as a manager in a retail store. I have one employee who always calls in.)

Employee:*on the phone* “I cannot come in today. I am sick!”

Me: “Well, this is the seventh time this month you have been sick and the 28th time this year so far. Please provide a doctor’s note, because you have yet to bring one in.”

Employee: “It’s illegal to not let me take off sick days!”

Me: “I said bring a doctor’s note, not come into work. You are required to bring in a doctor’s note and you have not. The next time this happens without a note, you will be written up. This is the seventh time in three weeks you have called in.”

Employee: “I have a weak immune system!”

Me: “I am sure a doctor’s note will help prove that.”

Employee: ‘This is illegal!”

Me: “It is in no way illegal to require a doctor’s note. If you are this chronically ill, then urging you to get treatment would be the best course of action. I will see you tomorrow.” *hangs up*

(The next day:)

Employee: “Here, look. I said I was sick!”

Me:*looking at obviously fake doctor’s note, made on the employee’s computer* “I… really? This says to excuse you from work for two weeks because of a ‘traumitic’ illness of the ‘lunges’. Is that supposed to be ‘lungs’? And where exactly is Dr. R. McDonald in this town? I am unfamiliar with that practice.”

Employee: “Oh, uh, next town over.”

Me: “Really? Which one? Also, I would love to know where the number 555-555-5555 is located or 555 Main Street. If you are going to give me a fake doctor’s note, at least use the number and address of a friend and not a whole bunch of ‘5’s.”

Employee: “That is not fake! I demand that you give me my legally required days of! The doctor ordered it!”

Me: “I am not playing this game. You are fired.”

Employee: “You cannot do that! This is illegal!”

Me: “Really? You called in without cause for seven days this month alone, caused backups and under-staffing, now you are lying about a doctor’s note. I am sending this note to corporate and you are fired for neglecting your duties repeatedly.”

Employee:*screaming* “You cannot do this!”

Me: “Aren’t those lungs supposed to be ‘traumitically ill’? Those sure sound healthy to me. Also, I just googled the doctor, just to humor you. Do you want to guess what I found?”

Employee:*throws name tag at me, still yelling*

Me: “Great, I will add assault to the list of reasons I fired you when I talk to corporate.”

(I am invited to interview at a popular quick service joint. I am not made aware that it will be a group interview. My interview is scheduled well before the place’s actual opening time, so naturally the doors are locked, but I can see employees inside getting ready for the day.)

Me:*knocking gently on the door* “Hello? I’m here to see [Interviewer].”

(Not one of the employees even look up. Another person walks up next to me.)

Interviewee #1: “You’re here for an interview, too?”

Me: “Yeah. What time’s yours?”

Interviewee #1: “Nine.”

Me: “So’s mine. I guess we’re interviewing together.”

(It’s five minutes to nine, so we make more attempts to get the employee’s attention. Not once do they ever acknowledge us in any way. By ten past, two more interviewees have shown up.)

Interviewee #2: “What the h***? They better not count this as late!”

(We all decide to stick around until 9:30, and just as we start to walk away, the doors fly open.)

Interviewer: “Where have you all been?! We were supposed to have finished by now! Why are you all late?!”

Interviewee #1: “We weren’t late! We were out here on time, but no matter how many times we knocked on the door or asked to be let in, those employees of yours wouldn’t even look at us!”

Interviewer: “Well that’s not my fault. You all should have tried harder!”

Me:*losing my temper* “How? Slamming ourselves against the door? Screaming our heads off? We all knocked and spoke loud enough to be heard. Why didn’t you come out to see us when it was time?”

Interviewer: “It’s not my job to be here on time. It’s your job. And you all failed miserably at that! You’re all lucky we’re short staffed or I’d turn you all out!”

Me: “You know what? I don’t want to work for you. Let someone else deal with your b**** a**. Oh, and I’ll make sure to be calling into corporate about how you deal with prospective employees.”

(The rest all murmur in agreement, and we simultaneously head for our cars.)

Interviewer: “Fine! Leave! You’ll be sorry when you find yourself in some dead end job and on the street! I hope you rot!”

(I flipped her off without turning around and drove away from there as fast as I could.)

(A couple weeks before this incident, I had to bathe my cat because he got into something sticky and foul smelling. He scratched up my arms and part of my stomach trying to escape the sink and it left a lot of scars.)